BB Grey–musings

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I left,
then came back,
less each time,
until what I left behind
was more than what waited for me
when I returned.

This happened with love,
with dreams,
with promises
more than I wanted to admit.

I tried to believe
I came home richer,
but truth tugged at me:
I left pieces behind
and never returned with more.

She must have seen it,
must have felt it
sometimes the heart knows
before the mind can speak,
and so it was destined to end.

Leaving and coming back,
promises, resolve, the end
there was movement,
and movement is something,
until it moves you.

Even then,
you realize this too was good.

There is sadness in this truth,
a slow progression,
a growing,
a pulling away that scars.

I did this with people,
with things I loved,
with passions I couldn’t give up,
with flames that burned and burned
and I couldn’t put them out
I only fed them.

The journey, the leaving
you leave parts of yourself
scattered
until you realize
there will be nothing left
unless you stop.

So you shelter in place,
wait for the rain to end,
for the wind to still,
until you see
where you have been all along:
standing outside yourself,
outside what you once called home.

Home is the hearth
the soft glow at the center of my soul,
the quiet strength in the pause,
the tenderness in the healing.
Here, I gather what was broken,
hold space for all I have left behind.
I know the ache of every goodbye,
the beauty of every return.
I am the ember that never dies,
and I will always find my way home,
even when home is within me

Horizon is the fire
the blaze of new suns,
the promise of adventure,
the wind that carries me forward.
Here, I do not look back,
but forward
every step a chance to grow,
every challenge a chance to claim.
I am movement,
I am momentum,
and I will not stop
until I have made my mark

Home and horizon
the hearth and the fire,
both present,
both alive,
both part of the journey.
One calls me inward,
one calls me onward,
and together,
they make me whole.